Bent
by December Writing Dragon
Summary: They were damaged pieces, tarnished by their own hands and the work of others. But no other beings fit quite so well together as these two healing souls. RusAme / AmeRus oneshot.


**Bent**

America woke to the feeling of relentless shifting beside him. Every bit of him felt heavy with fatigue; eyelids tipped by dark golden lashes fluttered open, blinking in the darkness. The figure wrapped in his arms continued shifting in his embrace. Slowly, Russia's profile came into sharper relief; the man's violet eyes were still closed, though worry lines carved deep paths across his features as incoherent noises spilled past his lips.

"Russia?" America's voice came out as barely more than a croak, still weighed down with sleep. Clearing his throat softly, he tried once more, "Ivan?" A hand tentatively travelled up to touch Russia's shoulder. The action was met by a slight twitch, the muttering increasing in volume, brow furrowed further still.

America leaned carefully forward, gauging the situation. This was one of the few times recently that he and Russia had been able to enjoy not only a day but evening together. After a friendship that deteriorated to decades of weariness, it astounded both of them how well they fit beside each other when cuddling close. It only took five minutes of awkward fidgeting for an invisible barrier to be breached, for them to forsake all else before, and pull each other close. America looked away from those mesmerizing amethyst searchlights only when Ivan's gaze became too intense, when the look of almost worshipful awe became overwhelming.

They had fallen asleep with America's back pressed against Russia's pale scarred chest, and Russia's large nose burrowed contentedly on honey blond locks. The two had inevitably shifting around in their sleep, now so they faced one another, and it allowed America to see plainly that Russia was not sleeping as soundly as he had earlier. The timid sounds the man before him was making were uncharacteristic of him in normal waking hours.

America dove into action when a particularly potent tremor coursed through Russia's body, causing him to hunch his shoulders, curling in on himself. Protectively. Defensively. Fearfully.

"Vanya." America's voice started as barely a whisper, before he checked himself, raising to a tender murmur. "Vanya, babe, it's okay." He rubbed gentle circles into his cheek with one hand while the other patted and rubbed at his shoulder. "Ivan, wake up, come on, Vanya-"

Russia's eyes flew open and he shot back, scrambling to the other side of the bed. Hands that had previously been fisted in the fabric of America's shirt flew to his throat, thick fingers ghosting over the scars there. Russia's shoulders rose and fell in time with his rapid breathing.

Immediately, America's hands raised in a peaceful, placating manner. "It's alright- you're okay, I'm not gonna hurt you!" he said quickly, stomach churning as that horribly foreign look of fright settled across Russia's features, evening out to something akin to wariness. With each passing second, the tension slowly eased, until at long last Russia's shoulders had sunk completely; he seemed to deflate before him, dragging his hands from his ruined neck, gaze fixed determinedly to the bedsheets in shame. America didn't leave him any time for protest as he clasped Russia's hands, pulling him close and wrapping him in a protective hug. Though Russia was once more stiff as a board, America's heart screamed at him to hold the man close, to shield him, at least for the moment, from the shadows of his night terrors.

America's fingers were carding through strands of Russia's platinum hair when Russia finally sank into the embrace, even reaching up to cling to the shorter man.

"It's alright," America breathed, rocking them both, slowly, gently. He felt Russia nod shakily against his shoulder, tightening his hold. America pressed a kiss behind his ear, the closest spot he could reach.

"Izvinite…sorry," Russia's rumbling voice sounded from over his shoulder.

America adjusted their position so he was holding him even closer. "Don't be ridiculous. Nothing to be sorry about," he muttered, and together they lowered back down to the sheets. Their hair pooled around their heads like halos of silver and gold, moon and sun. Russia continued to try and avoid America's eyes, until a tanned hand cupped his cheek and dragged his gaze to the sky blue gems before him.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

Russia opened his mouth, but for a time, no sound could come out. At last, he shook his head. "Not…not tonight." His eyes flicked across America's features as he pulled the sheets further up their shoulders. America nodded. "But…someday. I promise."

America nodded once more, gracing him with a reassuring smile. "I'll be ready whenever you are, no sooner."

Russia nodded, letting out a sigh of gratitude. All remaining tension lifted from him, and once more the two puzzle pieces came together. They were damaged pieces, tarnished by their own hands and the work of others. But no other beings fit quite so well together as these two healing souls. Sun and moon, sometimes eclipsing each other, yet bringing the best out in each other when sharing their light.

THE END


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